


Surrender

by zarabithia



Series: Mercy  Universe [2]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-18
Updated: 2007-04-18
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: Killing his lover, even at Roy's request, isn't something Dick can recover from.





	Surrender

_["This isn't a League mission, 'Wing. It's me and you, just like old times. Which means you call the shots, and I follow you - into hell and back, if need be." ]_

The bitterest irony of Roy's words - which had continued to haunt him while Dick had waited for his legs to heal - was that Roy had been so damn close to the truth. They'd walked right into hell - a trap Dick had led them into - but they had never come back.

At least, Roy hadn't. And Dick wished every day that he hadn't, either.

It had been a long "recovery" process. Their captors, in addition to breaking both of Dick's legs in various points, had caused many internal injuries. The first three months after the League -

_["Roy. . . my boy-o, NO."_

_"Too soon. God. He wasn't in the League for a full year. . . "_

_"I'm so sorry, Dick."_

_"We should have gotten here sooner. We failed them."]_

\- had rescued him had been spent in a hospital bed, getting nourishment from a feeding tube and IV. The last four had been spent lying on his back in his apartment, staring up at a ceiling that reminded him that he couldn't fly in a darkness that reminded him of all that he had lost when he had killed Roy.

_["Don't make me die alone."]_

Which wasn't to say that he was always alone. Especially in the first few months, what was left of his friends and family had all taken turns stopping by to check on him - Bruce, Alfred, Tim, Cass, Donna, Connor, Dinah, Helena, and Clark. Hell, Clark stopped by so often that Dick had began to wonder if the man was listening to him purposefully during the day in Metropolis.

He'd been able to stop the unwanted Superman visits with a pointedly snide comment about flying that Clark had misunderstood as a sign of grief for what Dick had lost in his legs. And to be fair to Clark, Dick _had_ missed flying. He'd ached to get up and sail through the night air once again. But without being able to ever turn around again and see his partner at his side, for the first time in his life, he had wondered what the point of flying was.

When the day finally arrived that the casts came off and Dick could walk around his apartment by himself, he stood at the window of his apartment, smelling the wind in the air without feeling the rush of anticipation that he'd always felt before. Even as Renegade -

 _["Don't.Get.Up."_ ]

\- that joy hadn't been taken away from him.

But now it was gone, and without it or Roy, Dick could only vaguely remember how free he'd once felt, jumping from roof to roof. He wondered if anyone honestly expected him to feel that free ever again, knowing that the hands the reached for his grapple lines _(to save him from falling)_ were the same hands that had ended Roy's life.

_["Thank you."]_

They were also the same hands that currently held Roy's gun.

It was a memento that Dick really shouldn't have of his dead lover. In all the boxes that Tim and Connor had brought of Roy's things - all bequeathed to Dick - none of them had contained any of Roy's weapons. Not so much as a single bow and arrow.

Dick wondered who received those. Where they were hiding, as neither Dinah nor Ollie were recovering any faster than he was.

Their wedding had been postponed.

_["You know, Short Pants, if we'd made up a month earlier, we could have flown off to Star City and had Ollie marry us on his court steps. Just to piss off The Bat."_

_"With my history at weddings? I don't think so." ]_

Dick supposed the caution was necessary. His friends weren't stupid, and didn't want to leave any ideas laying around. Which, of course, was why Barbara had him on surveillance twenty-four seven.

But Dick had been a detective. . .once. . . and Barbara was not so good of a hacker or computer whiz as to detect the efforts that had gone into looping the video feed in order to trick her into seeing what Dick wanted her to see. Or, more importantly, to trick her into not seeing what he didn't want her to see.

Well, she'd probably notice it eventually. But not before Dick had time to take care of business.

He'd been trained by the very best, after all. Far more intimately than Barbara ever had.

_["We never kill." ]_

The gun that Dick wasn't supposed to have, the one his friends would have removed from his presence if they had known that he had it, was one of four mementos that Roy had left behind the last time they'd had a fight . . . the last time Dick had done his level best to hurt Roy, to push him away. . .

The last time Dick had walked away from his team, his partner, and everything they'd built together.

Up until twenty minutes ago, the gun had sat in a box at the back of Dick's closet, next to an old shirt, an empty bottle of cologne, and three bullets. The shirt was a crumpled blue one that had dried egg on the front from one of Roy's many misadventures in cooking. The cologne was the overly strong kind Roy favored, the kind whose scent reminded Dick of the smelly car freshener he'd used his freshman year when he and Lori. . .

Dick wasn't as good of a marksman as Roy, but he only needed one bullet. He'd left the other two in the box at the back of his closet.

_["Dick. My baby. Take care of her."]_

There were reasons not to do this, and Dick considered them one last time as his hand caressed the weapon in his hand. Most notably, there were Lian and Tim to consider. Others would miss him, but Lian and Tim would be affected by his choice the strongest.

Tim had lost so much already, but. . . but Tim was strong. Far stronger than Dick was, strong enough to _choose_ to be Robin. And he was young. Tim would have to get used to losing people, if he wanted to stay a hero. Dick had no doubt that the younger man would. . . he was a lot stronger than Dick had ever been.

As for Lian. . .Connor had brought her by more than once during his recovery to "cheer him up." They had chosen, wisely, to leave Lian with the man who had the greatest mental strength while Dick healed. Loosing her Daddy had been tough enough without adding in her the grief of her aunts and grandpa.

Connor was a great choice, and a far better uncle than Dick knew he had ever been. Lian was actually showing signs of healing herself - something that each visit with Dick threatened to undermine. He couldn't feign happiness, not even for a little girl he loved so much, not even for the one person that had always meant the world to Roy.

Each visit with him only made Lian's grief fresh, and each visit only ended with her leaving in tears - completely undoing all of Connor's efforts to hep her heal.

It would be better for Lian, once he was gone, too. Connor would take the kind of care of her that Dick. . .couldn't.

_["If I make it." ]_

He wouldn't be breaking a promise to Roy. He couldn't make it. He'd tried.

Stretching his legs, Dick felt a tingle down to his toes. It was a reminder that he had another choice; if he was patient and waited another month, he could return to the world of Nightwing, all that if offered and all that it had taken away from him.

If he'd been stronger, that was the choice he would have made.

But Dick was tired of fighting.

He took one final deep breath, thinking of the way Roy's final gasp of air had felt on his lap.

_["I love you." ]_

Then Dick opened his mouth and put the gun in place.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dick saw a blur of red and blue that was too late to change his mind as his memories went silent.

_[I'm sorry. ]_  



End file.
